Four and one hundred and fifty

“Dear Teacher my son cannot register for the Balilla [fascist youth organisation] we are poor and we do not need hate”.

A man wrote this message to his son’s teacher in the 1930s, a message that could still be written today. We do not need hate. Not the hatred concealed in the language of the State, that which kills with the coldness of bureaucracy, which justifies even the greatest infamy. A language that we do not even pay any attention to anymore, so addicted are we to listening to it uninterruptedly without reflecting on its real meaning. The language that describes the man with a different skin colour to his own, if poor, as ‘residual load’, waste to be sent to the dump. A language that nothing will alter, not even the tiny bodies of dead children lined up side by side, because in the end even that accountancy is, for many, just a bureaucratic question. It is a question of numbers that will soon be filling up tomorrow’s statistics, not of poor unfortunates who drowned while they had hope in front of their eyes: four days at sea and the coast only 150 metres away. But the linguistic severity of bureaucracy does not give a damn about poor unfortunates. It doesn’t ask how long a night spent rigid with terror is. It doesn’t care if a journey can cost a life, because it travels by State flights.

Yet that language does not come asepticly from nowhere, it is the expression of a very specific way of thinking: that of Domination, which in turn is embodied in men and women with faces, not just in words that hurt.

So here hatred can come in handy, this is where we need it; a healthy hatred not sown by the powerful to justify the war between the poor, but that which clearly identifies the real enemy. A hatred that overflows from the heart and pushes one to arm one’s desires. Because hatred can be a noble sentiment that gives no peace, as opposed to the indifference that leaves one staring blankly at the screen of a smartphone, passing from shipwreck to gossip with the same [lack of] emotive intensity.
Channelled in the right direction, we need the hate that helps us to not simply wet with tears these pages on which we write…

Biblioteca Anarchica Disordine

English translation by Act for freedom now!